


Someone call a nurse!

by la_bamba



Category: Coraline (2009)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Crushes, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Not Beta Read, Pining, Sorta character study, idk where this came from, its cute tho so shut up, random coraline fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26094451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_bamba/pseuds/la_bamba
Summary: ...Wybie noticed things. The big things, the important things, and most of all the miniscule and irrelevant things. Wybie was a firm believer that all those little things would end up meaning a whole lot more than a big thing....Which is why, Wybie rationalized to himself, it wasn’t strange that he couldn’t stop noticing things about CoralineOr when Wybie's noticing almost takes him out
Relationships: Coraline Jones/Wybie Lovat
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	Someone call a nurse!

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly not sure where this fic came from? Just was in a writing mood and I picked my favorite couple/ not a couple. I doubt many ppl will see this but hope whoever does enjoys it! :)

Wybourne Lovatt was many things. A grandson, a best friend, a mechanic, a scientist, but above all else, an adventurer. And with that came some pretty standard quirks. Creative, odd, curious, and maybe more than a little obnoxious. The most crucial traits that any adventurer worth their salt should have, of course. However the most integral of all were the observation skills. If there was one thing young Wybie considered himself, it was extremely observant if not occasionally obsessive. He had stacks of notebooks and journals from over the years to back that up.

All this to say, Wybie noticed things. The big things, the important things, and most of all the miniscule and irrelevant things. Wybie was a firm believer that all those little things would end up meaning a whole lot more than a big thing. He noticed that when the gravel in the Pink Palace driveway was starting to come loose so he could repave it before Grandma asked. He noticed when the field mice got smarter, smart enough to alude the lazy hunter Cat and left a little extra ground turkey in a bowl outside his window. That was just the kind of guy he was. He noticed, then used that notice to help the ones he cared about.

Which is why, Wybie rationalized to himself, it wasn’t strange that he couldn’t stop _noticing_ things about Coraline. Like, how could he call himself her best friend and _not_ notice things about her. Things like, when the flowers she secretly plants across the city bloom, she’s smiley and bright for weeks, or when the Beldam comes back to haunt her dreams her eyes seem dull and puffy, or how the fall is when Coraline has the most freckles because she spends all summer in strappy tank tops and flip flops tipping her face towards the sun. That particular thing is noted in the cool privacy of their ‘secret hideout’ aka Wybie’s workshop aka an old decrepit shed in the woods behind the Pink Palace.

They had stumbled upon the shed the summer after Coraline’s first arrival at the palace and took an immediate shine to the moldy corners and damp roof. The following months were spent making the shed safe enough to stand inside and then making it their own. A sturdy workbench for Wybie. A saggy bean bag chair for Coraline. Mini fridge loaded with junk for the both of them.

The shed was just another thing that held the two together, something they shared. It had everything they could ever need. A generator Wybie borrowed from his part time job at the auto body garage shop in town, blankets, magazines, snacks and each other of course. Their hideaway from the world. It was some powerful stuff. To consider where they started, two lonely twelve years olds fighting an ancient demon all the way to now, best friends about to start their senior year in highschool. 

The heavy weight of the implicit sentimental value held fast in Wybie’s mind. There was nowhere it felt more prominent than here in the shed, tinkering on his motorbike, surrounded by years of collected memories across from the girl he spent all that time collecting them with. Which put him right back into _noticing_ territory. 

Here he noticed how soft her pale skin looked even though he knew about her calloused palms and cracked knuckles, the smattering of those coffee colored freckles across her face and arms, her expressive hazel eyes, how different they looked now traced thinly with ‘eyeliner’ she called it. Even her long slender fingers with their chipped black polish, typing swiftly against her phone screen. He especially noticed that navy blue hair, usually cut in that signature bob just past her ears, was now long enough to brush against her shoulders and fall in front of her eyes. It was wavier now too, a bit more natural. Every so often, she'd tilt her head and try to shake the curls out of her facet. Her roots could be seen through the growth, soft chocolate brown. 

It wasn’t weird to kinda obsess over how beautiful your best friend was, right? And it was definitely normal to feel a little breathless watching her do simple stuff like play games on her phone. It was just the shed, nostalgia making the shaders in his visor seem particularly rosy.

Right then, as if through some sort of best friend ESP or something, Jonesy looked up from her phone. A tidal wave of blue hair falls forward and she huffs in annoyance, before shooting Wybie a smile and tying the hair into a quick ponytail.

Wybourne tactfully ignored the dramatic heart squeeze her toothy grin caused and refocused his mind and energy on his bike. He was mostly just working on some casual touch ups. The enige kept doing this nasty stutter and the young tradesman was positive he knew the issue, some loose bolt or another, and Jonesy offered to accompany him.

“Are you really gonna fix a screw with a hammer,” Coraline’s disbelieving scoff brought Wybourne back into reality and he looked down at the tool clutched in his work glove. It _was_ in fact a hammer but it was the only tool in his toolbox, the rest surely scattered about in Grandma’s garage. Quickly he flipped his signature visor over his head to toss back a retort.

“Trust the finesse of a professional…”

“Amateur,” Coraline corrected curtly, one thin eyebrow raised in the way she did when she wanted Wybie to know she thought he was being ridiculous. 

“Professional in training,” Wybourne conceded, raising his hands in playful surrender, “It’s just a rattly bolt. All I really need to do is knock it in place until I get it to the shop.” the brown skinned boy flipped his visor up to catch a better view. The arched brow didn’t lower but her lips were twisted up in a bit of a smile that made him smile too.

Wybie appreciated these moments in their friendship. When they weren’t roughhousing or yelling or searching for slimy slugs. Of course, those times were good too, all moments were good if she was around, but the time spent in the shed was different. Comfortable silence filled the air between them as if all they needed to be happy was the mere presence of the other. It was during these quiet moments that Wybie could truly appreciate her beauty… as a friend of course.

The conversation seemed finished, with Coraline directing her attention back to her phone screen and Wybie with a bolt to fix. Despite his bravado, the junior mechanic did have some reservations about using incorrect tools for a fix like this. An errant smack of the hammer face could bend the metal of his bike’s delicate engine beyond repair. However, if he didn’t fix the bike today he couldn’t take Jonesy to a huge music festival two towns over tomorrow morning. 

The pair had been looking forward to this festival for months. It was a small gathering of all the best local bands, some of which the teens knew personally. They got amazing passes, all access VIP and both had struggled for weeks in advance to secure the days off from their respective responsibilities, and even convincing their parents (and grandparent) to allow them to get two cheap hotel rooms so they could stay the full festival weekend. In such a small, desolate area such as theirs, events like these didn’t happen often and Wybie simply couldn’t bear the thought of letting Coraline _or himself_ down by missing it.

So with that in mind, Wybourne was careful to edge the narrow end of the hammer under the suspected loose bolt. It wiggled like a barely loose tooth, enough proof to Wybie that it was the cause for concern in his vehicle. 

_‘Cake walk from here,’_ Wybie thought smugly. _‘Just gotta twist the hammer counterclockwise and the rebel screw will be secured. Heh, told her not to doubt…’_

His braggadocious train of thought was interrupted by a blast of loud music and a shrill laugh, definitely Coraline’s. Startled, his body continued its thoughtless actions and his hand jerked, sending the metal pin exploding from its post, ricocheting off the motor and flying up towards Wybie’s face at light speed. 

Before he could even react, violent pain radiated from a spot just below Wybie’s eye and of course like the level headed professional he is, Wybie screams in agony. The sharp metallic ringing and Wybie’s cry of pain had Coraline looking up from her phone with a start. She gasped as she saw her friend clutching the entire left side of his face with both hands. She was by his side in a second.

“Wybie! Holy shit, are you alright? What the hell happened?” her voice was tight with concern and if he hadn’t been in such excruciating pain, Wybie might have laughed at how strange the tone sounded on her. 

Instead, he could only groan and press his hands closer to his face. Immediately Coraline wrapped her hands around his wrists and attempted to snatch them down. 

“Don’t put your hands on your face while you’re wearing those filthy gloves!” she snapped hastily, and it did occur to Wybourne that he was still wearing his work gloves, slick with oil, grease, and dozens of other unknown contaminants. He was quick to shuck the gloves, giving the bluenette a clear view of his injury. 

By her sharp intake of breath, he could guess it was ugly. Before Wybie could react, he felt himself being yanked to his feet; it was only then that he realized he had fallen to the ground when he was struck by the rogue bolt- and being quite forcibly dragged over to the workbench.

Coraline swept her arm across the cluttered bench, sending hundreds of blueprints, notebooks, and trinkets crashing towards the ground. Wybie could practically feel his (good) eye twitch watching his work flutter to the floor but before he had a breath to complain he was shoved down onto the sturdy wood surface and a rag was dropped in his hands. Thankfully it was one of the few clean ones Wybie began keeping in the shed after his the insistence of a certain blue-haired girl that he might need a clean towelette one day. How right she had been. 

“Stay right there,” the lanky blue haired teen commanded while she lifted herself on a chair to reach the shelf above the bench. She had grown long in the years- not nearly as tall as himself, who’d hit a lucky growth sprout freshman year, finally filling in almost all his awkward and gangly edges- but Wybie found himself staring at her soft, exposed tummy and “those gorgeous bambi legs” to quote Grandma Lovatt and he swallowed back the lump in his throat, trying his best to comprehend the situation.

He barely had time to come to grips before Coraline was back in his face, her fingers wrapped tightly around a first aid kit that Wybie had totally forgotten they had. Wybie sighed in relief, very pleased with how resourceful his girl was. 

Wait... _his girl?_ Where had that come from? Coraline was far from his, or anybody’s, that much about her was always clear. Wybie could only imagine the thrashing he’d receive if Coraline could hear his strange possessive thought... So why did it stir his stomach and tickle his chest?

The term of endearment only he had heard made Wybie feel hot under his collar, despite the chill of the autumn air. As Wybourne stewed in his mess of embarrassing emotions, his best friend continued her work none the wiser. Coraline moved too fast and efficiently, tilting Wybie’s chin upwards and climbing on the workbench to kneel over him. For just a second a strand of her hair escaped the loose trappings of her ponytail and brushed against his nose.

She sucked in air through her teeth and her grimace said it all. Wybie knew it must be pretty bad as he became more aware of the strange wetness of his own blood dripping down his face. He couldn’t really see out his left eye and his head was starting to swim. Coraline’s cool fingers against his hot cheek kept him grounded as she moved to take a wet towelette and start to wiping up the blood. She dabbed at the wound until his cheek was damp and the little cloth was saturated red. As his mind started to clear, Wybie idly tried to remember if his tetanus shots were up to date.

She tossed it in the direction of the trash can and opened another packet, repeating the process until finally the gash seemed out of fresh blood and his face was clean. Around their feet was a mess of torn wipe packets and discarded bloody wipes. Wybie had become relaxed under her gentle strokes until he caught her hand sneaking towards a familiar opaque bottle out of the corner of his eye, and he tensed immediately. 

Of course, Coraline could sense the change in his demeanor and she groaned.

“C’mon Wybie, just relax and let me do this. It’ll be quick and as painless as possible, trust me.” No longer attempting stealth, she snatched the bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the first aid kit and popped the cap open with her thumb. The sour smell filled the air almost instantaneously. Face scrunched up Coraline didn’t stop, carefully pouring a bit of the liquid onto a cotton ball. The anticipation and dread made Wybie’s heart tumble into his stomach and he leaned as far away as he could from the cotton ball of doom. This too did not slip his friend’s notice and she groaned again, her eyebrows furrowing in obvious frustration. 

“Don’t be such a baby _Why-were-you-born_ ,” Coraline spat the childish nickname like a threat, holding the soaked cotton ball like a weapon. 

“The more you irritate me, the more it’ll hurt,” and somehow Wybie was even less willing to let her touch his face. 

Wybie, finally locating his voice began to prattle off excuses. 

“Ya know what Jonesy? It’s really not even that bad of a cut and it’ll heal no matter what... so why bother?!” Wybie attempts a casual shrug but the pain radiates through his face, straight to his brain and too many sharp movements make him dizzy. Moving along, he continues his rant.

“And I hear that stuff is actually really bad for cuts or whatever. ’Kills all the good germs too so if anything you’d do more harm than good,” 

The more he spoke, the less patience Coraline seemed to have until finally she huffed a great sigh, recapped the alcohol, and chucked the lethal cotton ball in the trash. 

“Fine Wybourne! Just shut your trap and I’ll be back,” the girl sprung up from the position she held, and stomped out of the shed. She returned just as soon as she’d disappeared, this time with another scrap of clean cloth and the outdoor hose. Neither said a word as she returned to her spot and lathered the cloth, grumbling scornfully the whole time. 

The neutral smell seemed to chase away the abrasive scent of alcohol and Wybie relaxed once more. The peaceful silence returned as Coraline washed his wound, serene and tender, Wybie hadn’t even known possible for the usually brash girl. So different yet somehow so similar to her usual attitude, subdued and gentle in her own bossy way. The way she fussed over him was almost... maternal! That thought alone made Wybie go warm under her touch. 

Blessed be the powers that kept the incriminating flush of his cheeks camouflaged under dark skin. The vibe lured Wybie into a familiar mental state, _admiring_ his best friend. His eyes shamelessly mapped over her thin cupid bow lips and that delicate upturned nose. The crinkles under and at the corners of her eyes and even the oddly charming zit on her forehead and how she was obviously trying to hide it under her bangs. 

Wybie was brought back to reality as the bluenette smeared a clear jelly across the gash, barely heard as she claimed it would heal it faster and then the final step…

He watched as she unwrapped a large white gauze pad, turning it over in her fingers a few times. She bit her lip and screwed her face in what Wybie recognized as her ‘thinking face.’ After a silent moment, she met his gaze.

“I think I may have to put this over your whole eye? It just looks kinda bad and since I can’t clean inside your eye… this might be the best way?” Uncertainty was also a rare tone for Coraline. They both took a minute to consider, thinking over their admittedly small knowledge of eye injuries before Wybie spoke up.

“Sounds scientific enough for me. Bandage away Nurse Jones!” he hoped his playfully quip would assuage some of the hesitation and guilt he could feel practically radiating off his friend. It seemed to work because Coraline shot him a wavering smile before carefully fitting the large gauze pad over his left eye. And with just two strips of medical tape it was finally over.

The two let out a breath in unison and Wybie sagged against the workbench in relief. Even with his left eye covered his vision was still blurred, it hurt to look around too much and he probably _definitely_ had a concussion. His fingers prodded at the band-aid, which awoke a soreness in his cheek. The pain was reduced to a full throbbing all patched up so he focused his attention on his saving grace, now cleaning up the mess of first aid supplies. 

Grandma will probably lose it when she catches sight of him and would most assuredly insist he needed a visit to the ER but somehow, Wybie knew the care of a professional would pale in comparison to this.

“Thanks, Nurse Jonesy! I really don’t know what I’d do without you,” and Wybie’s sure as sure he heard her mutter something along the lines of _‘die a terrible and completely preventable death’_ in response. His hoarse laugh even surprises himself because she’s only joking but is also probably totally right and right then he loves his long suffering best friend. 

“So do I get a treat for being so brave?” Wybie teased lightly, a lopsided grin finding its way around his mouth and he pushes a brown hand through matted brown curls. He doesn’t expect a response which is why he stiffens just a tad when Coraline lifts herself on the bench, sitting shoulder to shoulder. 

“Howabout your treat being me not kicking your ass into next week for scaring the crap outta me!” she snaps quickly, raising her fist as if to punch Wybourne. He’s quick to flinch, like he always is but Coraline just chuckles and lowers her hand.

“Aww Jonesy was worried about me…” Wybie starts to tease but this time she does slug his shoulder, cutting him off effectively. 

“Of course I was worried ya fucking dolt! You’re my best friend. Besides if you go blind, who’s gonna drive us to things?” her frustrated scowl melts into a cheeky smirk as she gently knocks their shoulders together.

The thought of driving brings Wybie’ mind back to his motorbike and why they’re even in this mess to begin with and he groans, head falling forward in shame.

“But now we can’t go to the festival! Crap Jonesy this is all my fault, I’m really sorry.`` His apology is earnest, if not a little mopey but Coraline just heaves a dramatic sigh and takes his chin in her hands.

“I don’t care if we miss the concert. I’m just glad you’re okay ya big dummy. You should know there isn’t a concert in the world more important to me than you, _Why-were-you- born.”_ her comforting words do wonders to cheer him up, as well as bring another embarrassed flush to his face. Gently, she swept her fingers over the edge of his bandage. 

“Besides, streaming it from home while I nurse you back to health will save tons of money.” 

Maybe it was the concussion or the uncharacteristic soft words and gestures but the swell of warmth was nearly intoxicating. Wybie’s body moved into a kind of autopilot he had never experienced before. His hands came to rest over Coraline’s and without a second thought his lips were pressed against hers.

* * *

  
  


In the following week, not much happened. 

Wybie was right about Grandma. She had thrown herself into a panic, fussing over then chastising her careless grandson. She did take him to the Emergency Room, where they waited 5 hours for a snippy nurse practitioner to say that Wybourne would be fine and whoever dressed his wound did a surprisingly adequate job.

The doctor ordered bed rest, a bottle of painkillers and antibiotics, and another check up and vision screening in a month.

They did, of course, miss the festival but after spending the weekend watching the performances from his laptop, surrounded by Chinese food, his Cat, and his best friend turned _girlfriend,_ Wybie was convinced it was everyone else who missed out.


End file.
